


Objection, Your Honour

by LiamLogan



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Crime, Human AU, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lamp - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Murder, Past Rape/Non-con, Poly, Sherlock Holmes AU, Trans Male Character, Trans Roman, Transphobia, UK AU, polyamorous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 10:25:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19293826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiamLogan/pseuds/LiamLogan
Summary: A Sherlock Holmes style world, where Logan and his 'team' are living together, with tensions growing at Logan's boredom. When a mysterious woman appears at the doorway with an unusual request regarding her son who has been accused of murder, Logan jumps at the opportunity to finally get to work again, but this case is not like any others.





	Objection, Your Honour

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: allusion to rape, and also a bit of verbal transphobic harassment. This covers some pretty heavy topics as one of the characters has anti-social personality disorder and this talks a lot about prejudices against people with mental disorders, so please proceed with care. Also, this is set about ten years after another fic I wrote (Not Our Wedding) but it isn't so integral to the plot that you have to read that one first, it's just a few Easter Eggs with references to it. Hope you enjoy! Also set in the UK because I live here.

Logan sat at his desk with a sombre expression. The expression of long-term boredom combined with annoyance at the people whose company he was sharing. The expression of someone who has a need for work, for a challenge, which is not being satiated. An expression which, to anyone who did not know him, would strike acute concern. However, to the three men who had had to tolerate his company for years, it was nothing unusual. Roman, a fierce theatrical performer, approached the studious Logan and—despite the warnings from the seemingly omnipresent Virgil—dared to distract him from his work. ‘Work’ employed in a loose sense; Logan hadn’t been given anything to exercise his genius brain in weeks, and was starting to become agitated at his mental stagnation. Thus, he had started to create and solve mathematical equations, plot pointless graphs, write endless pages in his notebook about anything he could find on the internet, and any other method one can fathom in the name of providing work. In his self-indulgence, Logan had been neglecting some more fundamental aspects of the human lifestyle, last resigning himself to slumber nearly twenty-five hours ago. Needless to say, the disturbance in his didactic pleasure did not elicit anything short of rage. He stood up and turned around to face the man, who towered over him significantly.

“What do you think you’re doing, Roman? Or will you finally admit that you don’t tend to _think_ , at all?” Interrogated Logan, with a gruff in his voice from dehydration. Despite his menacing utterance, Roman smiled and, conceited as ever, proceeded to backflip away from Logan, who stood at his desk watching him go. Neither he nor Virgil bothered to warn him that he was soon to backflip into a wall. Upon doing so, Roman landed into a front split position.

“Impressive,” Commented Virgil sardonically, “now you’ve managed to distract Logan, annoy me, hurt yourself, and damage the wall within less than a minute.”

“Serendipitous.” Logan remarked.

“Don’t call me that!” Protested Roman, struggling to rise up from his splits, and instead resorting to leaning and falling forwards.

“Serendipitous is a phrase that refers to a pleasant sequence of events, Roman. You didn’t know what it meant, did you? Yet you presumed that I had insulted you.” Logan explained, sitting and leaning back on his chair.

“You do usually dishonour my character so I presumed that you wouldn’t compliment me now.”

“Hey, kiddos!” Interrupted Patton enthusiastically, coming home with a bag full of bread. Whether he was aware that the beginnings of a feud were brewing and knew to interrupt, or simply was being his effervescent self was a mystery to all.

“Hi, Pat!” Virgil replied, with something that—despite being identical energy—elicited an eerie feeling within Roman which Patton could never.

“Someone was following you, Patton.” Observed Logan, much to the disgust of Roman, who proceeded to burst into a volcano of agonising rage (which Logan quickly but silently noted to be feigned).

“Oh, you think you’re _so smart_ , Logan! So _astute_! You’ve been reading too much _Sherlock_! Tell me, then, to every microscopic detail, how you managed to construe that conclusion and see if I can’t deny it with another plausible theory.”

“Roman,” Logan said calmly, “it really doesn’t take a genius to spot the woman dressed in an all-black suit stood right behind Patton in the doorframe. Seriously, Roman, she stands out like a rose amongst weeds.”

 

“Come in, miss.” Commanded Logan. As if through pragmatic inference, Roman knew to draw out a seat for the guest, Virgil knew to sit up respectfully and quietly, and Patton knew to start the kettle. Offering the guest some tea, the four men took their positions.

“I must say,” she said holding her teacup to her lips without sipping, and tapping it with her long nails, “I don’t feel safe surrounded by the four of you at all angles.”

“Don’t worry miss, we’re all gay.” Virgil laughed, but staying strictly in his proper position.

“All of you?” She asked, sceptical. Logan cleared his throat before responding.

“We provide a service, miss, and to try to offer or force anything other than that service would not only be a dishonour to all of our names, but it would be disgusting and immoral. If you’re pondering about our arrangements, or thinking about how to use our inclinations to ruin our name, then _I_ must say that we have more reason to feel unsafe around you than you do around us. Now, you came here in need of our service, yes?”

“I apologise, misters, and yes. It’s an urgent matter and the police won’t listen to me…” She explained, rubbing her thumbs together and looking down at her knees.

“May I take a guess?” Logan requested, triggering looks from Roman, Virgil and even Patton that might as well have had ‘how rude!’ written all over them. The client, on the other hand, looked amused, and asked him to continue.

“A relative of yours has been accused of a crime that you do not believe possible for them to commit—which is quite an unusual case as we usually get people asking about murder victims they know personally, but yours is just a different perspective. Am I right?”

“Absolutely.” She confirmed, much to Roman’s disbelief. By rule, however, nobody was allowed to ask him how he gathered that information until after the client had left.

“Good, now please pardon my hasty deductions, I don’t believe I have yet asked your name?”

“Oh, my name is Lilly, and my case is as follows: my son has been accused of murdering one of his classmates, and he’s currently awaiting a trial where I’m sure the jury will find him guilty. I know it’s probably not something you’re asked to do often, but could you please try to take the case and prove him innocent?” She plead, but Logan did not seem remotely moved by her.

“Only if you answer this one question truthfully: do you think he is innocent?” He asked, resulting in the most horrified looks from the three men, and Lilly looking downright offended at his doubt.

“My son is innocent!” She exclaimed, with enough conviction to make Logan get involved.

“Good. You should be aware that your son is in great danger of facing life imprisonment, and if he is already waiting for a trial, his chances are not very good. It is important that you believe him, if nobody else. Where is he?”

“I can drive you to him right now, if convenient?” She offered, standing up and gesturing for him to follow. All four men followed her to the car, and after minutes of struggling and effort, managed to all squeeze in together. Virgil took the passenger seat.

“We take turns.” Patton explained, to which Lilly acquiesced. _They have a strange dynamic,_ she thought in her head, _but if it works for them, it’ll work for me_.

 

Logan strutted into the police station where Lucas was waiting in custody. As he walked, the heels on his boots made such an authoritative sound that he almost got away with walking straight through with Lilly, who was also dressed appropriately in her suit to fit right in. If it weren’t for Roman’s prince costume, Virgil’s hoodie, and Patton’s cat jumper, they maybe wouldn’t have been stopped.

“Excuse me?” One police officer called.

“You’re excused.” Replied Logan. However, not wanting to push his luck, faced the officer confidently and, one could argue, smugly. “What’s the problem?”

“You can’t go in there.” She said.

“Actually, I can. Don’t you know my name? I’m Logan Sanders, leading consultant in the whole of Europe,” he explains, taking out his badge, “and trained forensic anthropologist—among other things—and I’ve been transferred onto the case of Lucas Rose. I have reason to believe he is being held here awaiting a trial for the murder of a classmate and former friend. I _can_ go in there, as I need to talk to him in order to find what I need in order for him to have a fair trial—which is one of your biggest British Values, correct? Now, I shan’t be long.”

“Okay, you can go in, but I’m sorry miss, you’ll have to wait here, and as for you three-” the officer started, but was abruptly interrupted by Logan.

“They’re my team. You see, while I am one of the best in the world at what I do, I have elected these men specifically to join me.”

“Do any of you have identification?” She asked, clearly suspicious. Before anyone else had an opportunity to answer, Logan swiped in again.

“Unfortunately, they do not. You see, I was told that them providing proof of their identity was fruitless at this same station when I took on the case of Robbie Spyron, and at many different stations across the country—because _I_ have identification, and they’re part of _my_ team, I was informed that it was unnecessary.” He lied. Virgil knew it was a downright lie of commission at ‘I was told’; Logan does what he wants, he doesn’t get ‘told’ anything. Fortunately for them all, the police officer seemed too tired to argue any further and simply acquiesced.

“I am sorry, though miss…” She said, now confronting Lilly, “I can only let the team in for legal reasons, but take a seat here, darling. Do you want a drink?” Lilly was guided away from them, but Logan demanded that Roman go and keep her company.

“Why me?”

“You’re a charmer.” Logan said, instantly making Roman leap back down to where Lilly was sat, and did his best to soothe her, asking about what she did for a living, and telling the story of how he somehow met three people with the same last name as him.

 

One-way glass. That was the first thing Logan noticed. With Virgil and Patton strolling behind him, he started analysing Lucas from the very moment he saw him, through that one-way glass.

“Gentlemen,” Logan stopped, whispered quietly, and pointed at the boy, eighteen years old, before started explaining, “He does not know we are here. Look at that blank expression, and still, stiff posture. Now, when I open this door, he will erupt into tears. Do not be concerned nor sympathetic. He is faking, and I’ll show you.” He claimed, before walking right into the room ahead of the other two, and—as predicted—Lucas burst into tears. _That’s not fake._ Patton thought. _I can see the tears on his face where I stand!_

“Lucas, correct?” Logan asked presumptuously. Lucas nodded his head, still sobbing. Virgil started tapping his leg as a nervous tick. The three simultaneously sat down opposite him. Truly, an interrogation was about to occur.

“Stop crying, it’s a waste of my time.” Logan commanded. Virgil and Patton had practised discipline before in these situations, but never had they had to exert more self-control so as to keep a blank slate of a face at Logan’s harsh words.

“I can’t!” He sobbed, hiding his face in his hands.

“Don’t lie. You’re not feeling a thing, are you? You have Anti-social Personality Disorder, you’re an expert at lying to emotionally manipulate people into thinking you’re normal. You cry out of expectation, not because of any emotion.”

“So you figured that out, and you probably think I killed my friend, right?”

“I can’t make any judgement now if I want to have an objective outlook. Tell me, what was he to you?” Logan requested firmly.

“He was one of my friends, and he was my motivation. I bet you think I can’t make friends, right? I can, so long as they’re willing to accept that I can’t make an emotional connection to them. I can still decide to be in their company. Matthew was my rival too, I guess, which is why people think I killed him. I didn’t. Why would I kill the person who made me motivated? Who made me _feel_ determined?”

“Lucas, you have to understand that I have a Master’s degree in psychopathology from Durham. I know your disorder. I was reading the reports of the crime scene—your mother was kind enough to email them to me on the way here—and I don’t think you did it, but you don’t need to convince me, you have to convince a jury. You have to convince twelve people, most—if not all—of whom will be ignorant of who you are. They’ll hear ‘disorder’ and they’ll apply their faulty schema right away. You have to battle against twelve preconceived notions of what it means to be a ‘psychopath’. Crying won’t help you, but I’m going to try.”

_How did he manage to get the reports? Can Lilly even access them? Surely not, and yet…_ Thought Virgil in absolute bewilderment. _He really is a god damn genius._

“It says in the reports that the weapon—a knife—had been wiped clean and that the blood wounds on Matthew’s body had cotton fibres in them from a shirt that was found to have your initials on the label. In forensic anthropology, that indicates that the killer felt guilty or remorseful for their actions- which is something you can’t feel, correct?”

“Correct. Is that why you think I didn’t kill him?” Lucas asked.

“Not that alone. If it had been you, you wouldn’t have left your own shirt there knowing it has your initials on them. I have reason to believe you’ve been framed for murder. What happened the day before the murder?”

 

The three had been in there for over thirty minutes before coming out, and Roman had started to struggle for ideas for conversation with Lilly that weren’t focused on only himself. He’d even asked her about how she would rate different variants of bread. As soon as he heard the click of his three friends walking back down to see him, he leapt out of his chair enthusiastically, scaring Lilly half to death.

“We’re not going to be able to convince twelve ordinary people that he didn’t kill his friend, Logan!” Patton exclaimed, teary-eyed. Lilly’s whole body tightened up, and she had to hold herself from weeping aloud.

“No, so instead we’ll find out who did and prove it with hard, undeniable evidence.” Logan replied, as if it was as easy done as said. Roman stood with anticipation and frustration, his fists clenching and unclenching and miniscule pins of sweat accumulating on his forehead. Ignorance in situations of importance was no better than a crime, in Roman’s eyes. He roared in vexation.

“What happened in there?” He questioned.

“We’re dealing with a psychopath.” Virgil replied.

“But don’t let that disturb you!” Patton interjected.

“If you do, then you’re part of the problem we need to circumnavigate. In court, we’ll have to convince a prejudiced and biased jury that a psychopath did not kill his friend. The prosecutors will use his ASPD against him, influencing the jury and depending on the preconceived ideas of what a psychopath means: to them, it’ll be someone who’s dangerous, frightening, and cold-blooded. We won’t be able to prove them wrong, but we _can_ show them the real killer. Oh, this is a good case, Lilly, thank you for bringing it to by attention.” Logan explains, congratulating the mother for—what Roman perceived to be—having a psychopathic son.

“How do you propose on doing that?” Asked Virgil.

“We talk to everyone at the club the night before the murder.” Answered Logan, again, as if it was as easily done as said. “Now, Lilly, I’d recommend going home now. I’ll contact you regarding any updates. How old is your daughter, again? Just turned seventeen? Yes, that’s an important detail. Have a safe journey home!” And with that, Logan and his three team-mates had officially embarked on a new journey, one that had the means to protect a young life. They got a taxi home, and immediately started piecing together all the details.

 

Virgil ripped the papers and string from the last case off the corkboard, Patton handed him a myriad of papers, pens, pins, and strings. Roman wheeled in the whiteboard from Logan’s office, and Logan fed words onto an email, explaining his involvement in the court case.

“I still have a question, Logan.” Patton asked. Logan’s hubris was that he was a genius, and that he expected everyone else to understand what he understood. His sigh of frustration alone was enough to fire up Patton’s nerves.

“How did you get that police officer to let you talk to Lucas?” He asked, capturing the attention of the other two, who were both also impressed at the earlier scene.

“Well, first of all,” he explained, always happy to demonstrate his skills, “I stated my name and status: ‘leading forensic anthropologist in Europe’ is a bit above ‘generic police officer’, so clearly holding an authoritative advantage, she was in a position to obey me, rather than the other way around. I then said that I had been transferred to this case specifically—I didn’t say that I’d transferred _myself_ onto the case, but that’s hardly relevant—thus giving myself all the authority necessary to do what I needed to do. In order to get you guys in, I simply said that other officers, people who were definitely her senior and held more power than she does, had told me that your identification wasn’t necessary after the Robbie Spyron case, which I chose specifically because it happened ten years ago, so there’s no way that she would have been working on that case as she was probably just finishing secondary school. Granted, I was still working on my psychopathology degree, but I had to trust that she wouldn’t question that. She wouldn’t have questioned other officers about me, it’s hardly worth her time, and knowing that other people let you in, she would have felt compelled to conform. Simple psychology, Patton, simple psychology.”

“So you have a Master’s in psychopathology, and you’re also a qualified forensic anthropologist?”

“Don’t forget trained chemist and linguist. It’s all necessary for the job—oh, and the degree in genetic biology.” Logan said, typing out his last words to the email, before finally inserting the phone into his pocket and helping the other three with the case. Printing off the autopsy report, the crime scene report, and presenting his notes from the interrogation (which nobody had noticed he was taking), he adjusted his glasses and sighed.

“The killer felt remorseful, otherwise they wouldn’t have tried to stop the bleeding with the shirt. Lucas cannot feel remorse, so he wouldn’t have tried to stop the bleeding if he had killed Matthew. Either that, or the killer is trying to frame Lucas which is why they used a shirt with his initials on. So, we’re either looking for someone who had a vendetta against the two boys, or someone likely to act impulsively and accidentally stab someone.” Roman summarised, upon reading some of Logan’s notes.

“Correct. Virgil, where was Matthew found again?”

“Lucas and Amy’s house.”

“Is it not Lilly’s house, too?” Asked Patton.

“No, Lucas moved out when he turned eighteen a few months ago and Amy, having a bad relationship with Lilly, moved with him to escape her.” Logan answered, suddenly starting to click. “Someone get Lilly and ask her to bring Amy here, right now!” he demanded, adjusting his glasses aggressively and starting to shake. Roman instantly got out his phone and called Lilly, walking into his bedroom so as not to be distracted, and Patton and Virgil shot each other confused glances before daring to ask him what his cognitions were.

“If Amy moved out at this young of an age, she obviously had a really bad relationship with Lilly, who, may I remind you, is a single mother. This puts Amy into a vulnerable position, with her brother being at university a lot, she’ll spend a lot of time alone, which means she’ll probably resort to trying to attract attention… Possibly _male_ attention. Lucas said that the night before the murder, there was some kind of party going on at their house, but he can’t remember everyone who was there. If I can get some very specific details from Amy, I could find both another suspect and a motive for the murder.”

 

Amy sat anxiously on the sofa, clicking a switch on and off in her hands.

“Autism?” Virgil suggested. She nodded, on the verge of tears. Roman had offered her some water, slipping in some lemon slices and ice cubes to make it feel extra special. She hadn’t taken a single sip, just left it on the table while she rocked and clicked.

“Yeah. I’ve ADHD.” Virgil commented, eliciting a smile from her. Logan, after finally attaching the pieces of string, sat down on a sofa next to Virgil, while Roman and Patton continued discussing certain aspects of the case.

“Do you remember what happened the night before Matthew was killed?” Logan asked, as calmly as Virgil had ever heard. She nodded her head.

“We had a party at our house, and I’d been drinking a lot. Not enough to forget, though, and someone gave me some water after I commented on how tipsy I was feeling-”

“Was it particularly cold?” Logan interrupted. The other two were paying no heed, knowing that Logan will summarise the current ordeal later, but Virgil was paying as much attention as he could to what was being said, and he knew exactly what Logan was suspecting, and had a feeling of impending doom fall over him knowing what would soon come.

“Yes, that’s what I was about to say, strangely cold…” She said, watching intently as Logan scribbled down endless notes. “I was watching the time intently at this point, wondering when Lucas would come home. Ten minutes after drinking the water, I’d blacked out. The next morning, I knew I’d been taken advantage of. I was in pain, everything hurt. When I walked out of my bedroom to see my brother’s friend’s body bathing in its own blood, I passed out.” She said, making Logan suddenly stop scribbling notes. His hands and face at this point had turned a ghostly white, as if all the blood had left his body.

“What were you wearing? What material?” He asked desperately.

“Some denim jeans and this wool jumper.” She replied.

“Not cotton then, which is good; cotton fibres were found on Matthew’s body around the stab wounds. I was concerned that if you had passed out, they could have been from your clothes, which would have destroyed the fundamentals of our defence.”

“What are those fundamentals?” She asked.

“The murderer, after stabbing him, used one of your brother’s cotton shirts in order to try to stop the bleeding, which implies that they felt remorseful about their actions. Your brother is unable to feel remorse, so-”

“But couldn’t he have killed Matthew and someone else tried to stop it?” She asked, making Logan fall completely silent.

“Well,” he started with an air of tension in his voice, “I believe that someone is trying to frame Lucas, by using and leaving one of his shirts to stop the bleeding. Potentially the same person who took advantage of you after putting you in a compromised state. Do you know who that was?”

“His name is Josh, and he had just recently fallen out with Lucas, but I didn’t think it’d be enough to kill him! It was over something petty, I really don’t think it was Josh who killed him.” She protested to Logan, who had already demanded Roman get in contact with Lilly to try to find Josh.

“With all due respect, Amy, that isn’t something you get to decide. Come, gentlemen, we need to talk to Lucas again.”

 

Lucas wasn’t teary-eyed when Logan, Patton, Virgil, and Roman walked in. He was sat in his ‘cubicle’ as Patton had described, with his arms folded and legs crossed.

“Good to see you again, Lucas.” Said Logan upon entrance. The young boy hardly looked up as the four took some seats. Virgil, as a means of focus, had automatically started to perform the ‘leg bounce’, much to Patton’s distress (his intentions were always good, but he was unaware that the habit was not always a result of nervousness, but a means to a positive end).

“Do you have anything new to tell me?” He asked, in a blunt and low voice.

“We actually have questions about Josh, with whom we understand you had had a petty feud.” Logan answered.

“He’s a coward who can’t face the consequences of his own actions, but that doesn’t stop him from doing the same things, does it?” Snarled Lucas, taking Roman aback. _I thought he had no emotions, why is he acting so angry?_ He thought, ignorant in the entire matter.

“Would you say that he had a serious problem with you before the party?” Patton asked, interrupting a conversation which, to Logan’s understanding, was to be only between himself and their defendant.

“He definitely did. He’d have killed _me_ if he had the guts. Essentially, we fell out because he’d gotten into some trouble I didn’t want to get involved in. When he asked me for some help, I refused because I have a reputation to keep. He accused me of being a bad friend, and I said that if I’m a bad friend to him it’s because I want to be a better friend to other people—I don’t even know what he did but it hurt a lot of people, but not me. I think he wanted to hurt me even more specifically because I stayed away from him. I tried to cut him off, so when he showed up to my party uninvited I politely asked him to leave; I’m not the type to cause a scene, but other people wanted him around because he brought a bunch of drugs with him. I hadn’t drunk that much, but not long after I blanked out and I don’t remember a single thing. When I woke up, Matthew was dead.” He explained, while Logan scribbled endless notes.

“Do you know he also took advantage of your sister?” Poked Virgil while Logan was too busy to judge him.

“I didn’t know that, but now that I do he’d better hope I go to prison. He’d better hope he gets punished for that or I’ll break out and do it myself.” He hissed.

“Don’t say that in court,” Logan said, “because I have a solid theory about it that could keep you out of trouble, but if you say something like that then you’ll turn the whole jury against you. We know for a fact that Josh had drugged your sister and had taken advantage of her, and I think it’s entirely feasible he drugged you as well. When Matthew walked in on Josh with Amy, who was blacked out and asleep, Josh reacted in violence and stabbed him using the knives your sister keeps in her room. Afterwards, he used one of your shirts to try to stop the bleeding, either out of remorse or to make people think you killed him even though you were blacked out somewhere and asleep, all just to get revenge on you. Now, Roman, has Lilly replied to you yet?”

“Yes, literally just now. We have Josh’s address and his dad’s contact number.” He replied.

“Thank you, Lucas. You’ve been excellent.” Patton beamed reassuringly as everyone got up ready to leave.

 

“It’s sure been a long day.” Remarked Virgil on the way to Josh. While two of his teammates agreed, one started a lecture on how grateful they should all be to finally have some work to do, and that the work is intriguing and difficult, and how he almost lost his mind in boredom, and how he’d work on the case non-stop until it’s done.

“You do that, Logan. It’s five in the afternoon though, so we don’t have long left to try to get information until we’ll have to wait for tomorrow.” Virgil said apathetically.

 

Logan knocked on the door Lilly had referenced, and waited. Nervous tensions filled the air, as Virgil started fidgeting with the strings on his hoodie and Roman quickly grew impatient with the whole ‘waiting’ ordeal.

“Can’t we break in?” He suggested after nearly a full minute.

“You can’t be serious!” Cried Patton.

“This isn’t a TV show, Ro.” Virgil said, supporting Patton.

“We’re not police officers, we do not have that right. We’re consultants, but most people will just see my badge and tell me everything I need to know, police officer or not.” Logan interjected, before any serious arguments could take place. Logan was always proud to flaunt his badge and status, because none of the other three were like him in his education and intelligence. Technically speaking, Logan was the only one qualified to do the job, but he also knew how to manipulate people, something that qualifications never taught him. He knew that he only had to say that the others were his team, and they were all on the same level in public eye. However, in private and legal eyes, this was not the case, meaning that Logan (and Logan alone) would be presenting as an expert witness for Lucas’s trial. Suddenly, just as knocking on the door again was being considered, it opened a small crack, and a young girl—not even ten years old—eyed the four. As if by magic, Patton and Logan switched places; Patton, with his juvenile demeanour, was often the most approachable and sensitive when it came to young children.

“Hello, miss! Is it just you at home?” He asked perkily. She smiled and nodded her head. Logan made a mental note to write that down later.

“Okay, do you have an older brother called Josh?” He continued. She nodded her head again, still smiling but also unnervingly silent.

“Do you know where he is at the moment?” He persisted, hoping to get more of an answer than simple head nods or shakes.

“At the park with his friends,” She muttered quietly, “but I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“Do you know the name of the park?”

“Holly Park. It’s just around the corner.” She said.

“Thank you, miss. We’re going to leave now.” Patton declared, despite the absence of approval from the others. Immediately, Logan whipped out his phone and started calling without a word. Knowing that Logan despised being interrupted during a phone call, the three followed him as he walked down and towards the park, trying to piece together to whom he was talking from his side of the conversation alone:

“Hello? Logan Sanders, you should know my name by now… Send a few officers over to Holly Park where my team and I will be waiting. Why? I’m working on the Lucas with ASPD case as an expert witness… I’m not a police officer; I can’t just waltz in there and demand to speak to Josh Hutcherson for suspecting possession and distribution of drugs, suspected sexual assault, and suspected murder… Yes I know what I’m saying and if you’re shocked, you heard me correctly… This isn’t a debate to have now, send some officers within ten minutes, I’ll be waiting at the entrance gates.” He hung up as soon as the officer could get in another word, before turning to his friends and team, demanding they wait with him for the back-up.

“How do you know they’re sending any?” Asked Roman.

“I told them to.” Replied Logan, in a voice clearly meant to say ‘did you not hear me?’

“But you hung up so you don’t know if they will!” Virgil protested, to which Logan scoffed.

“Of course they will, they know me. And besides, I hung up because I’d rather force them to acquiesce than debate it for so long that Josh has gone before we can get to him. We can’t go to talk to him by ourselves-” Logan was promptly interrupted by Patton.

“But you have ID! Can’t you just flash that quickly before he can notice it isn’t a police badge?”

“As _if_ a teenager suspected of all the things we suspect is going to listen to me, cop or not. ID means nothing to people like that, it’s just useful for access. No, I need real and trained people to help me. And nobody take anything they say personally; people like this are prone to resorting to personal attacks and insults rather than logic. Nobody, not even I, can argue or resort to any forms of violence. We’ll lose our case if we do.”

 

Nine minutes and seventeen seconds later (Roman had been counting), two police officers had arrived and greeted Logan with handshakes, whereas only a gentle nod to Virgil, Roman, and Patton. Hurt, Virgil made a point on hugging Patton, who then made a point to hug Roman, which—within seconds—had become a loving circle of hugs held together by spite. Virgil’s favourite.

“Is your team okay?” One of the officers asked Logan, who was ignorant of the scene happening behind him. Turning around to see the three of them in a group hug, he simply let out a sigh, before making up a story on the spot to explain their vengeful affection.

“They get nervous. This being one of their first cases and quite a serious one, I think it’s appropriate to release the nerves now rather than in the middle of an interrogation, yes?” He asked rhetorically. “Good.” He answered himself before anyone had an opportunity to argue.

_Arrogant cow._ Thought one of the officers.

_Bloody impressive._ Thought the other.

With six on their side altogether, they found that approaching Josh with only two friends sat surrounding a bench (note that they were not _on_ the bench, but merely sat next to it) was a lot less intimidating than anticipated. To grab their attention, Logan cleared his throat, but submitted to the police officers when they immediately took a bigger stance and talked to the three boys themselves.

“Are any of you Josh Hutcherson?” One asked (the taller and wider, who obviously held the upper hand in making people submit to him). One boy, particularly scrawny and pale with greasy hair, raised his hand. His fingertips seemed to be dusty and stained white. He grimaced, exposing teeth that had yellowed and were crooked. Roman observed Logan on his phone, typing notes about their appearances.

_‘Bleached fingers- remove bloodstains._

_Grotesque dental hygiene- drug user and dealer._

_Skinny as if rapid weight loss, rather than ectomorph- drug use.’_

Despite Roman’s general annoyance and grief at Logan’s endless observation and deduction, since he had picked up the habit from watching the entirety of _Sherlock_ in one sitting, he had recently grown more and more impressed at how quick and diligent he had become at inference from even the slightest gesture or shift in appearance. He supposed that that’s the result of having more degrees than the rest of the team combined. Although Roman supposed that Logan was working on the case particularly well and with the same didactic air as any other, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was taking this one more personally. He dared not think about what happened, all those years ago, and hoped that the incident hadn’t crossed Logan’s mind too strongly (it had been an unspoken and mutual agreement between the four of them to never talk about what happened).

“We need to speak with you privately.” Said the shorter officer. Josh’s associates gave him a supportive clap on the back before departing.

“Do you know of a man called Lucas Grey?”

“Yeah, unfortunately.” He replied sardonically. His voice was gravelly, yet sounded like it was coming from someone far away.

“What about Matthew?” Probed the taller officer, deliberately omitting a last name. Logan was typing rapidly in his notes, every microscopic detail.

“Ha, funny. I _did_ know him! Dead now though, eh?” Laughed Josh.

“Curious, I never mentioned his last name, and Matthew is a common enough name for you to know not one, two, but _three_ Matthews other than the one that you killed. All in your college, and in some of your classes.” Said the officer.

“Hey no that ain’t right okay I didn’t kill nobody!” He protested. Patton could practically sense Logan trying not to visibly cringe—either at the poor grammar that he would otherwise take as a confession, or the way in which the officers tried to get Josh to co-operate. Most likely both. Before anybody knew what was coming, Logan stepped forward and, short though he appeared, what he lacked in height he made up for ferociously in stance and para-linguistics. Adjusting his glasses (Virgil was the only one in the world that knew that Logan adjusting his glasses was a nervous tick—or, more accurately, was the only one who had dared to ask him about it).

“Listen up, Josh, I have no time to waste because a former friend of yours is soon to face a court and years in prison for your actions, but your actions will also be the thing that saves him, so sit down, _shut the fuck up_ , and take a moment to consider the people with whom you’re dealing. Understand?” Logan acted furious. Virgil was familiar with this strange feeling, a sense of dread aimed at uncertainty. Patton was familiar with this scenario; countless times Logan had resorted to acting in feigned anger in order to force compliance—but never in a case quite like this. Roman felt a sense of familiarity, but something seemingly primal in him started to burn, a need to yell… To protect… To simply help Logan. Despite all these feelings of mystery within the team, and the shock of the police at Logan’s outburst, Josh sat down on the bench he and his friends had been avoiding, his bottom lip quivering, and his friends nowhere in sight.

“Whatever you think I did,” he said, with wobbles and trembles in his voice, “I didn’t.”

“Oh?” Scoffed Roman, his voice and confidence suddenly emerging, “you don’t know Logan. Whatever he thinks you did, you did. You can try to convince him otherwise, but he’s a genius. If I were you, I’d listen to what he has to say.” He lowered his head so that nobody could see, but Logan beamed.

“Alright, _miss_.” Josh taunted, sending something of a cold shock all throughout Roman, Patton, and Virgil, but a fiery hot rage throughout Logan. He clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles turned white, and his nails dug into his flesh so deep that he started to bleed. His jaw became clenched, every fibre of his being tried to control it for he knew that if he didn’t, his name would be destroyed, Lucas and his family would be ruined, and Roman would be disappointed. Logan knew this, and was surprised to find out which he cared about most deeply. The police officers stood silently. He took a deep breath, adjusted his glasses, and brushed his hair backwards before speaking.

“You’ve made a mistake there, Josh. You see, in the deliberate attempt to distress my teammate and friend, you have now given us a fourth cause for your arrest: possession and distribution of illegal substances, rape, murder, and now transphobic harassment. Do you deny any of these claims?”

“Lol,” he laughed, making the internet-cultured Virgil reflexively pull a face of disgust, “nah, your friend is a tranny.”

“Well,” Logan laughed maliciously, “that’s now two accounts of transphobic harassment, _and_ a confession!” Logan’s laugh was demented, joyful, and terrifying. The sound of handcuffs being pulled out, and the clicking of them, and every sound Josh made in anger and protest, calling fruitlessly to the friends that had abandoned him, and the words ‘we’ll send you an email later’, were all terribly harmonious to him.

 

“Roman,” Logan prodded him in the shoulder as they made their way back, “are you alright?”

“Yeah. It’s just the voice. Every time. It’s always until I speak that I pass.”

“But never stop speaking. Annoying though you can be, your voice is what keeps me sane sometimes. Please don’t stop using it.”

 

The four were back home, and night had settled in long ago. It wasn’t unusual for Virgil to be awake and even prosperous at these late hours, and Roman was somewhat accustomed to spending time awake in the hours under moonlight. For Patton, however, being anywhere except his bed was not something he liked. Logan had given up last year on trying to teach the former two about the importance of regularity for circadian rhythms and had instead simply resigned himself to a strict sleep schedule since then. But tonight, he was up and pacing around the living room like a confused dog. This was dangerous; no noise or alarm could bring Logan back when he was like this, so while the three could talk and argue as much as they pleased, there was always the uncertainty. Whether Logan was to remain in his trance-like pacing state for only ten minutes, or several hours, nobody knew. They only knew that there was no such thing as trying to bring him back until he had thought through whatever was in his mind. The only thing worse than the pacing was the thing often following it: collapse.

“Don’t you think he’ll be happy? They got Josh, what more could he want?” Asked Virgil, to anyone willing to answer.

“They have Josh for different reasons. They can’t prove that he did or didn’t kill Matthew, and they still think it was Lucas. At the moment, Josh is only facing charges for drug possession. And besides, I think he’s taken this one personally.” Replied Roman. While he hoped that the two would understand, he explained further:

“Amy was drugged, and taken advantage of, which is an integral part of the case. Of _course_ he wants to get Josh arrested—hell, probably worse if he could—because it’s reminding him…”

“Reminding him of when he was most vulnerable.” Finished Patton. Finally, it clicked in Virgil. He remembered the night of Roman’s cousin’s wedding, and how excited Roman was and how nervous Logan was. He remembered the phone call in the middle of the night, the panic, the words, and everything else. It dawned on him: Logan is haunted by the time he, too, was drugged and nearly taken advantage of. Roman and Logan had always had rocky moments—they still did—but Roman saved Logan that night. _Maybe_ , he thought, _Logan thinks it’s his turn to save someone else_.

 

A text had popped up on Roman’s phone after hours of watching Logan pace and trying to keep Patton awake. Then another, both from the same unsaved number.

_Logan isn’t answering_ read the more recent. Burdened with a terrible anxiety, he opened the previous text to read.

_Hi Roman. It’s Lilly. Logan gave me your phone number via email as an emergency contact. I’ve just been called by the local police and they’ve arrested Josh for transphobic harassment and drug possession. As it stands, there’s no evidence for the murder except from a confession they described as ‘sketchy at best but misleading at worst’. There’s a court date that Logan knows, but he’s the only one who has been summoned. I’m sorry Roman. I hope you’re okay._

Roman looked at the two non-vacant men in shock, before gathering them both around to make them aware.

“There _is_ evidence for the murder,” groaned Virgil, “they just don’t like that it came from someone smarter than them.”

“And how come Logan is the only one allowed to speak in court?” Patton asked.

“He can say all he wants about us being his ‘team’ but we’re no more qualified for that than he is qualified for… For emotions, I guess. He’s admitted it before, he just likes having us around to bring up holes in his theories and to reinforce what he’s thinking, but we’re not professionals, and certainly not enough to go to court with him.” Replied Roman at a rapid rate. His mind was racing.

“Does a theory count as evidence?” He asked the two. They looked at each other and then back at him.

“Surely every arrest is based on a theory unless there’s video evidence?”

“Yeah, and if the theory has solid evidence backing it, then I guess it counts—I don’t know.”

“We always forget how much we don’t know until he’s gone, don’t we?” Roman said with a hint of wistfulness and sorrow in his voice.

“Yeah, but he always forgets how bad he is at handling emotions until he’s alone and on the verge of a breakdown.” Laughed Virgil sardonically.

 

More hours passed, Logan’s pace had become relentless, he’d been sweating and Patton was seriously struggling to keep his eyes open. Even Virgil started to grow fatigued with the anxiety of watching Logan work, completely blind to the real world. Roman noticed, however, that this pacing wasn’t quite like the others in that he wasn’t a smooth, gesticulating and calculating machine as usual, but a slow, stressed, and twitchy worker. The sounds of his footsteps were less rhythmic than previous occasions, and he seemed to be absorbed by something other than his own thoughts, when suddenly he stopped. When Logan stops pacing, it means he’s done thinking. That’s what the three thought, when they cast each other hopeful glances before he suddenly collapsed onto the floor, limp. The three rushed to his side, Roman checked for breathing, Virgil checked for a pulse, and Patton checked for responsiveness. Logan didn’t wake up, but squirmed. His breathing was quick and sharp, but satisfactory enough.

“He’s seriously over-worked himself.” Roman said, rubbing his temples.

“Shouldn’t we call an ambulance?” Asked Patton, already readying his phone.

“NO!” Shouted Roman and Virgil simultaneously.

“Could you imagine what he’d do? We’d never hear the end of it, especially if he had to stay in hospital for more than a day or if he missed the court date. Wait…” Commanded Roman, thinking, “there’s that number to call for advice but not emergencies, do that one.” Roman and Virgil sat cross-legged on the floor by Logan’s side, anxiously watching the rise and fall of his chest.

“Hello?” Patton called. The voice on the other side was loud but their words slurred. The other two could barely make out what was being said.

“My friend has just fainted, we think just because of over-working, what do we do? Yes, he’s breathing… No, I called his name but he didn’t wake up… God, I don’t know, more than thirty hours probably… He just kind of squirmed away when we tried to hold him—yes ‘we’, there’s another two people here… No, he isn’t… Okay, thank you for your help. You too, goodbye!”

“What do we do?” Interrogated Roman and Virgil the very moment that Patton had hung up the phone.

“They said that it’s just fatigue, so just make sure he’s comfortable and watch for breathing, basically.” Replied Patton, followed by sighs of relief from all three.

“He wouldn’t like it if we worked on things more without him…” Commented Virgil.

“He wouldn’t want to stagnate the case…” Voiced Roman in return.

“He wouldn’t want us to worry.” Concluded Patton. It seemed a mutual agreement to collect pillows and blankets to keep him warm and lie with him for comfort, rather than go through the strenuousness of dragging him to his bedroom. Patton did the maths in his head, and he’d been awake and working for thirty five hours.

“It’s crazy how he can go so far without slowing down before he just stops.” Roman said when he heard.

“He’s been doing it more and more often,” explained Virgil, “I think he’s growing restless. We should take him somewhere nice, like a zoo.”

“His favourite animal is a lyre bird but I don’t think they have them in any zoos around London.”

“Oh, they have some in Edinburgh!” Exclaimed Patton with a bright smile. An alive and happy smile, so far from the tired and weak smiles from only an hour ago.

“After this, should we go?” Suggested Virgil.

“Definitely.” They confirmed.

 

He squirmed a bit before waking up. Rubbing his eyes, Logan was too tired to be surprised by the conglomeration of pillows, blankets, and everything of the like on the living room floor. The thing that did surprise him was Patton and Virgil asleep on the floor with him, and even more so Roman—who was rarely comfortable with such intimate contact. He was still in all of yesterday’s attire, including his watch. He checked the time, 1030 exactly. Standing up, he stretched and admired the scene: he must have collapsed again and so the three made sure he was warm and safe in the only way they (‘they’ mostly referring to Patton) knew how: affection. It must have been bad if even Roman had joined in. To remind himself of what he had yet to do, he looked through his notebook, the corkboard with connecting strings, and finally his texts. Yes, he remembered the court date—which was now tomorrow—but he received a text from Lilly. It read:

_Hi Logan, it’s Lilly. Josh got arrested for drug possession and transphobic harassment, but not for the murder. They said they’d bring him into court to see if you could testify—but I don’t think they liked your calling him ‘evidence’. Anyway, I hope you have a solid theory with undeniable evidence because as it stands there’s no proof. You said he confessed but the police said it ‘doesn’t count’ for some reason. I’ll see you in a few days, I guess._

“They do have proof right now,” Logan murmured under his breath, “they just don’t like that it came from me.” He tapped out a reply.

_Great news, then… They have all the evidence they need, they just think I’m arrogant. Hopefully we’ll not only punish Josh for his crimes, but save your son as well. Apologies for the delay, by the way: I was working all night._

He hit send, made breakfast (some coffee, the first fruit piece his hand picked up, and some kind of granola bar) and sat in a rare silence, pondering. Theorising. Imagining. He ate while he thought, not even considering his movements until he nearly ate the wrapper of his granola bar. Disgusted, he coughed and bitterly sipped his coffee. Suddenly whacking his hands against his face, he looked frantically at the bed pile and conceded disdainfully that wherever his glasses were amongst the three, they were probably broken now.

_At least I have a spare pair, somewhere._ He thought, cracking a grin at his Dr Seuss-like rhymes.

 

Roman woke up next, first feeling for the warmth of Logan, his thoughts preoccupied with a need to make sure that that he was okay. In failure, he opened his eyes and looked around for him within the blankets. Still not seeing him, he sat up and looked all around the room, before his eyes finally landed on him somewhere in the kitchen washing some dishes. The pungent aroma of lemons filled the air, and went up to investigate what he was doing. Being still tired, Roman almost instantly forgot why he wanted to see Logan so desperately, so instead hugged him from behind and draped from his shoulders. He didn’t let Roman see, but Logan was trying to stifle a gentle smile.

“I made pancakes.” Said Logan, completely unbothered by the Roman hanging from his shoulders behind him. He hugged him tighter.

“I’m tired, L.” He whined.

“You’re probably hungry, too. Please have something to eat.” Roman conceded and turned to the counter where Logan had served three plates of hot pancakes with wedges of lemon and a teaspoon of sugar on each. Logan left the room while Roman ate, slowly and like a zombie, before Virgil and Patton slugged through and presumed to consume their plate of pancakes.

“You seem perky, Logan.” Commented Patton.

“The court case is tomorrow, and I think we have everything we need. I’m only being called as an expert witness, it seems, but Josh isn’t getting away with it. Today, we’re just going to relax.”

“You should get a law degree and train to be a real lawyer.” Said Virgil with a laugh.

“I should, actually. Good suggestion, I’ll look into it.”

“How much debt do you have to pay back?” Asked Patton in awe. Roman laughed before Logan had even had a chance to answer.

“Scholarships. I go for free, and do those quick intensive courses that are only two years. I’m sure I’ve told you about this already, it must have come up before.”

“You usually only tell us things if we ask specifically. It’s only with your clients when you really flaunt your status.”

“Interesting…” Said Logan in a voice that didn’t seem entirely complete; his mind was still whirring from all of his thoughts from last night. “Last night, did I start pacing again?”

“Yeah, and you collapsed again.” Said Patton between mouthfuls of pancake.

“Oh, great.” Pacing was a natural part of him, it was as easy to pace as it was to simply exist, but it was the following procedure of ‘passing out’ that was less preferable.

“You stopped, and we thought you’d finished and you were going to come back, but then you just collapsed and we panicked. It was rather… Serendipitous.” Roman teased, remembering yesterday when Logan said the same thing, with the same sarcastic energy.

“Well, at least you let me wake up here rather than in a hospital.”

“Oh, and Logan, your glasses are over there,” Roman said, pointing in the general direction of the windowsill, “I took them off before we all fell asleep.”

 

The rest of the day was spent doing mindless activities: Roman read his favourite book while Virgil and Patton binge-watched their favourite television shows while Logan stayed on his laptop, exchanging emails, writing down and consolidating his theory, and editing Wikipedia pages. The atmosphere was calm and tranquil, quiet and peaceful. When Logan’s attention had to be brought to anything other than his activities, he did not erupt in rage but rather allowed his curiosity to brew, even cracked a smile at some of Patton’s jokes.

“What does ‘facetious’ mean?” Asked Roman after finding the word in a book (to Logan’s ignorance, the book was merely a shield to hide the book of evolutionary theory from him, otherwise Logan would ask non-stop questions about what he was learning).

“It means to treat a serious issue with humour, or I suppose to make light of a matter of importance by demeaning it.” He glanced over at him, sitting cross-legged against the wall near him, “why are you reading two books at once? And how have you come across the word ‘facetious’ in a book of evolution?” Logan replied, making the blood rush to Roman’s face.

“Well…” His face went impossible redder, “Evolutionary theory has interested me for a while, and it’s referencing the time when Diogenes plucked a chicken and yelled ‘behold a man!’ when Plato described a man as a featherless biped. It says that he did so in ‘a facetious manner’. I was just wondering.”

“Oh, excellent!” Logan exclaimed enthusiastically, “You’ve taken up non-fiction reading!” And the rest of the day passed by, Logan insisting on conversing with him on what he was reading, the other two relaxed watching their television, and no tensions in the air. Everything was well, but the impending sense of doom lulled around within Logan’s mind, for he feared that his efforts may not be enough and that no amount of proof or evidence or impossibilities will ever cure the jury of prejudice enough to free an innocent psychopath. He was to be there alone, with none of his friends, and the uncertainty haunted him.

 

He was up early the next day, early enough for dark to still be looming around every corner outside and for everyone else to still be asleep. Logan crept around the house, silently making coffee and eating breakfast and going over everything he knew and thought. He donned one of his suits, and left.

 

Patton woke up next, and knew as soon as he did so that Logan had already left. Roman and Virgil were still fast asleep, and he felt a true sense of loneliness. Making himself a large mug of tea, he could smell the aroma almost as soon as he poured the water—his attention was latching onto anything, he felt so alone and anxious. The tea didn’t even taste particularly good. He drank it anyway, first out of guilt for not wanting to waste a cup of tea, then out of spite for not tasting good, then due to some sort of moral obligation to finish the tea before making another one.

 

Virgil was next, less than a half hour after Patton. He rose and crept out of his room to find Patton angrily sipping tea out of his least favourite mug. He made some coffee, offered Patton another drink, made some toast, and waited with Patton. The coffee was bitter, and the toast dry.

 

Finally, Roman’s eyes fluttered open and he slid into the living room to see Patton furiously slurping on coffee (which, to Roman’s knowledge, he didn’t even like) and Virgil impatiently gnawing on some crumbs of toast. He grabbed a smoothie from the fridge and slammed it shut. He sat with the two in silence, all bitterly brewing with a pointless rage.

 

_“Objection, your honour, relevance!”_

Virgil began fidgeting with the strings on his hoodie and scratching the exposed skin from his ripped jeans. Roman hummed villainous songs through gritted teeth and pulled at his hair. Patton drank more and more coffee and started to readjust his glasses frantically (only to Virgil’s notice). Roman said nothing all day. Virgil only spoke to offer Patton more coffee, and Patton only nodded his head. Endless frustrations and aggressions ensued and barely a word spoken. The rooms started to feel hot, and the three became irritable. All any of them could think about was Logan, and how he’d take it as a personal offence if anything fell out of his strict idea of what he was hoping to occur.

_“Do you deny these claims, Mr Hutcherson?”_

 

Lunch time. Roman made the group smoothies and porridge as a distraction for his thoughts and to give him something to do. They ate, but nobody enjoyed it. Patton tried to turn on the television and continue watching his and Virgil’s favourite show, but the noise and bright colours simply upset Virgil. They continued like this for the rest of the day: silent and tense.

 

_“Mr Sanders is a genius, probably the best this country can offer. Please, jury, consider what he has to say. He is far more than just an expert witness; he could probably tell you exactly what happened as if he were there.”_

_“I can indeed. Would you like to know?”_

_“Objection, your-”_

_“Over-ruled. Mr Sanders, please elaborate.”_

They all sighed simultaneously. It had been hours and any efforts they had made to do anything were fruitless. Any attempt at conversation became a passing comment followed by an agreement. Any attempt at cooking became looking in a recipe book before slamming it shut in annoyance. Any attempt to read or draw or write became staring at meaningless words that were nothing but a distraction that came to no avail.

 

_“Hold on one moment, Mr Sanders. You claim to have observed that Mr Hutcherson removed bloodstains from his hands. How is this?”_

_“His fingers were bleached white and seemed blistered, from hydrogen peroxide used to dissolve blood and is common enough in every household.”_

_“And please remind us all: how do you know that Amy Rose was drugged and raped?”_

_“She said that she was tipsy when she was given the water, and said it was ‘suspiciously cold’—a direct quote. I find it hard to believe that someone who has lived in a house for the amount of time she has would be surprised at any water temperature coming from the tap, unless a drug such as flunitrazepam—also known as rohypnol, roofies, or date rape—was added to it, eliciting an endothermic reaction which would make the glass suspiciously cold. The effects of the drugs would happen quicker because Amy had taken in some alcohol. She described to me that she felt as if she’d been taken advantage of. My theory, to reiterate, is as follows…”_

Being nestled in negative emotion quickly became exhausting. They could not sleep, so the three lay restless and exhausted on the floor, fiddling and fidgeting with whatever was in reach.

 

_“You must remember that Logan Sanders may be clever, but he is ignoring the fundamental fact that Lucas Rose is a psychopath and there is nothing that changes that fact. Lucas Rose killed his friend in cold blood and cannot even feel remorse for it.”_

_“Now, mister, I would like to remind you that, aside from being a trained forensic anthropologist and chemist, I do hold a master’s degree in psychopathology from Durham University and am very aware of Lucas’s condition. I would also like to remind the jury that the prosecution is dependent on your ignorance, they throw the word ‘psychopath’ around and you instantly have an idea of what you’re looking at: a cold-blooded, affectionless, killer. I have been called to stand in this court and I tell you that you would be wrong to think that; we have a vulnerable man who would be all too easy to frame for a murder, who would be all too easily written-off as a psychopath and sentenced to years in prison, who would be all too easy for you to apply your preconceived, internalised notion of what it means to have a mental disorder. The prosecution is relying on you all to just accept and generalise. I have been called to stand in this court, and I tell you that I see an innocent man born in a world willing to write him off and throw him behind bars before even getting to know him.”_

Logan returned home after fifteen hours, exhausted and prepared to just do nothing but go to bed. As soon as the three heard the click of him opening the door, they pounced upon him and all asked the same question over and over again.

“How did it go?”

“It was a quick case, they usually take a few days. Unanimous. Lucas Rose is not guilty. Someone, please tell Lilly in case nobody has yet. Thank her for the case, too.” He said, before tripping and leaning against the wall closest to the door. He removed his glasses and covered his face. It was the face of someone exhausted, whose mind had been racing for so long that it was now time to rest.

“I just told her the news, she replied instantly, saying thank you for the help and how much are you charging?” Roman asked. Logan sighed.

“Since when do I charge?” He asked. Patton giggled.

“I guess she wants to pay as a thanks… It’s not like you’re a lawyer.”

“Just ask her to drop off two hundred and fifty quid.” Said Virgil.

“Why that much, it’s quite a lot?” Asked Logan, still on the brink of just falling asleep.

“Because that’s enough for the four of us to all get to Edinburgh Zoo, including train tickets.”

“Why do we want to go there?” Enquired Logan, curious.

“They have your favourite animal, the lyre bird.” Virgil said, giggling as Logan looked up with wide and bright eyes, full of childish glee and excitement and failed to suppress a wide and genuine smile.

“That’s amazing! We should definitely visit!” He exclaimed, pulling himself off the floor. “But for now, I need some rest that is actually voluntary.” He kissed the three goodnight, and sauntered off to his room. The other three grinned.

“I knew he’d like going the idea.” Said Virgil smugly. The air was clear. Logan was asleep. Josh Hutcherson was found guilty. Lucas Rose was found innocent. Everything went according to plan, and for that, all four men were grateful.


End file.
